Charity at Christmas
by theHuntgoeson
Summary: On the track of a fugitive criminal, Gene and Alex go undercover at a Christmas shelter for the homeless.
1. Volunteers

**A/N: Alas, I still don't own Ashes to Ashes, but I want Gene for Christmas!**

**I'm so terribly sorry for the long silence. I've been away a lot and I've had to give priority to a long series of music reviews with tight deadlines. In and around them, I've managed to finish the first two chapters of my Christmas fic for this year, although the second still needs some polishing. I'll post the second chapter when I've tidied it up and the third when it's been written.**

**In the meantime, a merry Christmas to all my readers - and reviews would be a wonderful Christmas present! **

"Bols. Into the car. We're off to see a snout."

"Which one, Guv?"

"Tell you on the way."

It was December 22nd, and greatly to CID's disgust the criminal scum of London were showing no inclination to give themselves or their pursuers a seasonal holiday just yet. As Alex leapt into the Quattro and it took off like Santa's sleigh, she reflected that any tipoff which might help them reduce their pre-Christmas caseload would be welcome.

"So, who's the snout, Guv?" she demanded, while the Quattro tore along Paul Street. "Tony Daniels again?"

"No. One you 'aven't met before."

The Quattro touched down outside a venerable building in Great Guildford Street with a brass plaque by the door bearing the name _St Mungo's_. They got out and Gene pressed the doorbell. The door was answered by a young woman who looked completely overawed at the sight of him.

"Morning, love." He displayed his warrant card. "DCI Hunt an' DI Drake, CID. We're 'ere to see Lady Joan."

"Is that Mr Hunt, Carol?" a formidable female voice boomed from within the house. "Show him up, please."

"Yes, my Lady. Would you step this way, please?" The girl gestured to them to enter. Gene, who plainly knew his way about the place, strode along a narrow hallway and up a flight of stairs with Alex in his wake. At the top of the stairs he turned right and tapped at a door which stood ajar.

"That you, Gene?" From close at hand the female voice sounded distinctly fruity and the accent was so upper-class that it made Alex sound positively common. "Come in, dear boy."

They entered to find an imposing lady in her early sixties rising from a desk and advancing to greet them with hearty handshakes. She wore a tweed suit which, like her, was of top quality and built to last. Her face was devoid of makeup, but Alex would not vouch for the colour of her hair being genuine. She made Alex think of Lady Sybil Ramkin in the _Discworld_ books.

"Gene, old boy, good to see you!" she boomed. "Been too long. Who's the lady friend?"

"Good to see you too, m'lady." Gene sounded unusually respectful. "This is DI Alex Drake. Drake, please meet Lady Joan Sheldon of St Mungo's, good angel of London's 'omeless."

"Fiddlesticks. Don't pay any attention to him, my dear."

"I very rarely do, my Lady," Alex said with meaning, while Gene seethed. "But I think I will, this time."

"Do make yourselves comfortable." Lady Joan gestured to a couple of upright wooden chairs facing her desk. "Tea, both of you?" Before they could answer, she moved over to an ancient but servicable urn which belched forth clouds of steam as soon as she touched the tap. "Bugger. Damn thing's overheated again. Care to kick it in the kidneys, Gene? Worked a treat the last time you were here."

"Coming up." Gene marched over to the urn and gave one of the knobs a vicious twist. The urn subsided with a sound like hotel plumbing in the final stages of despair.

"Good show. We'll be able to touch it in about five minutes' time. Jolly good job you've still got those driving gloves on. Taken the skin off your hands otherwise." Lady Joan sat at the desk. "Well, while we wait, I'd better tell you what I called you over here for." She looked at Alex. "As you may guess, m'dear, I'm one of Gene's more unusual snouts. Working for the homeless in this part of town, I get to see and hear all sorts of things the coppers don't."

"I can quite believe it." Alex was openly impressed.

"Anyway. Yesterday evening I was on the Silver Lady run on the Embankment."

"The mobile free soup kitchen an' caff for the 'omeless," Gene translated to Alex, who already knew of it. She nodded.

"I always keep copies of the mugshots you give me taped up on the inside of the serving hatch in case any of them show up. Last night, I couldn't absolutely swear to it because he had a flat cap pulled down well over his eyes, but I'm pretty damned sure that one of my customers was a fellow you're looking for."

"Which one?" Gene was instantly on the alert.

"Michael Judd."

Gene relaxed slightly in his seat. "Judders, breaking cover at last. Ta, m'lady, that's very useful."

The urn emitted a shrill shriek. Lady Joan rose and grabbed three non-matching tea cups and saucers. "Ah, Boanerges is honouring us with some tea at last. I know how you like it, Gene. What about you, Alex?"

"Plenty of milk, no sugar, please."

"Coming up." Lady Joan busied herself with the milk jug and sugar bowl. "All I can say is, if he's coming out of hiding to get _my_ soup, he really must be desperate."

"Was it for this that the mushrooms gave their little lives?" Gene muttered ironically.

"Yes. He is," Alex said seriously. "We know that much."

Lady Joan set tea in front of Gene and Alex and sat down with her own. "There you go. Would it be possible for one to know exactly what this bad boy has done?"

Gene sipped the scalding tea. "Judders was the book-keeper for Simon Neary, a gangster we nailed earlier this year. We rounded up most of 'is gang when we got their master, but Judders wasn't there when we pounced an' 'e slipped the net. A lot of people are looking for 'im, an' the others wouldn't be as nice to 'im as we would be."

"Why is that?"

"Because 'is approach to creative accounting'd give the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street a hangover. He's 'idden Neary's cash away in lots of different accounts across the country. We think it includes the proceeds from a number of major blags Simon was involved in, but without the bank details showin' when the money went in an' where, we've no evidence. Neary claims 'e doesn't know where a lot of it is, an' against all my usual instincts I actually believe the old fairy on this one. He trusted Judders absolutely, an' Mikey's proved 'imself a faithful servant."

"Must be, otherwise he'd have helped himself to a slice and headed for the airport," Lady Joan said sceptically.

"It isn't as easy as that," Alex explained. "He has a wife and daughter whom he worships. The daughter had a severe respiratory illness and he was desperate for money to pay the medical bills. We think that that was how he was recruited to Neary's gang. He's a banking genius. He was jailed for fraud, a scam to pay for his daughter's treatment, and one of Neary's boys recruited him while he was inside. The wife and daughter have gone into hiding since we took Neary down and we can't trace them. Judd won't want to leave the country without them, but he daren't contact them in case he endangers them as well as himself."

Lady Joan nodded her understanding. "Because there are others than the police who'd like to get their hands on the money."

"Correct." Gene slurped his tea noisily. "It's all over the underworld like a rash that Judders is the human key to Neary's bank vault, an' every gang in the country's looking for 'im. If they find 'im before we do, they'd torture 'im to get the cash."

"Or, worse, get his wife and daughter and use them as a lever to make him talk," Alex added.

"The word's been that e's been moving around London an' the 'Ome Counties, staying with anyone who'll take 'im in, but nobody'll keep 'im for longer than a night or two in case they're caught in possession. He's runnin' out of places to sleep. If your sighting last night's genuine, it looks like 'e's on the streets. The net's closing in. Only a matter of time before someone nails 'im. It's got to be us. Thanks very much, m'lady. If you or any of your team see 'im again, can you let us know when an' where?"

"With pleasure. The Silver Lady was up by Blackfriars Bridge when I spotted him, so he might be dossing down in that area."

"He hasn't been in any of the hostels for the homeless," Alex contributed. "They're all on the lookout for him, and he probably knows that."

"The Crisis at Christmas shelters open tomorrow," Lady Joan said thoughtfully. "Caring for the homeless and hungry on an industrial scale. They would be far easier to hide out in than a regular hostel. If he's run out of other options, he might try to lose himself in one of them. Especially with the weather so cold just now."

"Yeah. Thanks for the tip."

"I'm in charge of the shelter in Bermondsey, that's the nearest to Blackfriars where I saw him. It could be worth your while to pop your heads round the door sometime. I could give you cover to work for a day or two as volunteers, if you like. We're always glad of help."

"Oh, er..." Alex had never seen Gene look so awkward before. It was obviously very hard to say no to Lady Joan.

"The emphasis is always on interaction between visitors and guests," Lady Joan continued, "but if you're worried that someone might recognise you, we could always give you a job behind the scenes, maybe sorting bedding or food donations. Give you a chance to watch everything without being seen."

"Erm, well, I suppose - "

Taking pity on him, Alex stepped into the breach. "I'd be delighted to volunteer for a few days," she said warmly. "I was going to spend Christmas on my own, so it would be good to do something that will help people."

"Oh, Alex, my dear, how kind of you!"

"Er, um, put me down too," Gene mumbled, his face the colour of a turkey which had only just noticed the date.

"Delighted, dear boy. Knew you'd step up to the mark."

Gene muttered something deliberately unintelligible.

"Right! When can I count on you two, then?"

"Christmas Eve is usually rather busy for us," Alex said apologetically, knowing that Gene would kill her if she took him away from CID's party at Luigi's. As it was, she expected an earblasting from him as soon as they were in the Quattro. "But I can do Christmas Eve and Boxing Day, if that's any help."

"It would be a wonderful help. For obvious reasons, those are the days when we find it hardest to get volunteers. Thank you so much."

"I'll be there with Drake," Gene growled. "On duty to catch scum. If we do find anyone we know there, Judders or any of the criminal search parties, we'll 'ave to arrest 'em on the premises."

"Understood," Lady Joan said airily. "The penalty of taking in the homeless is that someone will always try to take advantage of one's generosity. Last year I had to call the coppers to nick three chaps for dealing, one for pinching our food supplies and one for exposing himself. I don't expect any better this year."

"Right!" Gene finished his tea and set the cup down with unnecessary force. "We'll be off. Thanks again for the tipoff, m'lady." He reached into his pocket and produced a £10 note, twice his usual going rate for snouts. " 'Ere you are."

"Oh, no, you naughty boy!" If so formidable a woman could be said to tinkle, Lady Joan tinkled. "I don't need _paying_, like the rest of your snouts."

"I'm not payin'." Gene's face was unreadable. "Put it in the collection tin. Or get Boanerges repaired before 'e blows up in your face."

Lady Joan's face softened into a lovely smile. "Thank you. I will. I look forward to seeing both of you on Christmas Day. Here's the address of the shelter." She produced a Xeroxed leaflet, which Gene took and stowed into his pocket. "If you could be there by 9.30 in case we need help with the crowd control for breakfast, that would be wonderful."

"Yes, m'lady." Gene was curt, but Alex thought that he was on the point of knuckling his forehead. "I'll send a plod round later with more mugshots of Judders an' mugshots of the gangsters, 'itmen an' protection merchants most likely to be after 'im. If you or your team spot any of 'em before we arrive, _don't_ approach 'em. They're dangerous an' likely to be armed."

"Roger that." Lady Joan's tone was joking, but her face was perfectly serious. "The shelter will be full of people, including children."

"Potential 'ostages if we 'ave a shootout," Gene said grimly.

"Of course, Judd may not turn up at all," Alex added.

"No," Gene agreed. "But if 'e does, we'll be ready for 'im." He rose, and Alex followed suit. "If any crims show up on your patch before we do, let me know."

"Of course. Goodbye, both of you. I'll be seeing you on Christmas Day, but in advance of that, merry Christmas."

"And to you, my Lady," Alex said warmly as they shook hands.

"Ta. We'll see ourselves out." Gene, clearly embarrassed, led the way down the stairs, out the door and into the Quattro in double quick time.

"I'm sorry, Guv," Alex said apologetically as soon as they were both in the car. "Have I ruined your plans for Christmas?"

"Wasn't meant to be on duty, but I don't 'ave anything else to do," he said gruffly. "If we can catch Judders, that'll be my Christmas present." The car took off and Alex held tight to the handle.

"How on earth did you get to know Lady Joan?" she demanded.

"Shortly after I transferred 'ere, a blagger made the mistake of trying to nick collecting tins from the charity offices. She was working late doin' the accounts. Floored 'im with a rabbit punch an' sat on 'im while she called the cops. She came to the station next day to give 'er statement an' we got talkin'. She volunteered to be a snout. All sorts pass through 'er shelters an' she picks up no end of information. Amazing old bird. Presented as a deb in '38, married the man of 'er dreams in '39, 'e was in the RAF an' was blown out of the sky in '41. She threw 'erself into working for Londoners made 'omeless by the Blitz an' she's been working for the 'omeless ever since."

"And there was I, thinking I was the only posh bird you knew," Alex said lightly.

"Only thing that's posh about Lady Joan's 'er title." In spite of himself, Gene grinned. "I've 'eard 'er use language that'd melt Johnny Rotten's safety pins when she's whipping the inmates in 'er shelters into line, an' she's as free with 'er fists as you are."

"Will we take any backup with us into the shelter? A few plods undercover as inmates or helpers?" Alex asked.

"Might not be able to get 'em, specially as we'll be off duty. Very few on duty on Christmas Day an' Boxing Day, an' they'll want double-bubble. I'll ask the Super."

"Do you think he'll agree?"

Gene scowled. "Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye."

-oO0Oo-

The following afternoon, Gene was not a happy man. He had had a blistering interview with SuperMac, larded with sarcastic references to "wild goose chase", "public accountability", "proper use of taxpayers' money" and "police resources". The upshot was that he and Alex would have no backup. Mac had even flatly refused to countenance the idea of keeping a squad car with radio contact parked a few streets away to summon aid.

"Really, Gene, if you insist on ruining DI Drake's Christmas and yours by picking around a shelter on the say-so of one charity worker who couldn't swear to the ID, you can only expect to net the odd pickpocket and three-card merchant. The end hardly justifies the means, does it?"

"But, Sir, if we do manage to nail Judd, the information we'd get from 'im would be invaluable at Neary's trial, an' we'd stop any other criminal networks getting the money."

"A very big _if_, don't you think? The answer's no, Gene. The expenditure can't be justified. And I can't allow you and DI Drake to waste your time. Enjoy your Christmases and leave policing the shelter to Lady Joan. I understand she's very efficient. That's an order."

It was one which Gene had no intention of obeying. He had carefully omitted to mention to Mac that as they would be off duty and were ostensibly volunteering at the shelter for purely charitable purposes, he had no way to stop Alex going _- and even if I had, it'd be a first if she obeyed me -_ and he'd be boiled along with the pudding rather than let her go on her own._ Leave that soft-hearted, soft-headed tart in sole charge of a platoon of homeless and hungry? They'd rob her of everything but her warrant card before the carol singers arrive._

He stumped into his office, poured himself a shot of whisky, and slammed the glass onto his desk with unnecessary force. _Blast Mac. The man's a hero, but since he became a senior suit he's turned into a bloody bean counter._

He looked up to see Alex standing in the doorway. "Guv?"

"Did I request your presence?" he snarled.

Not for the first time, she decided to ignore his rudeness. "Did the Super authorise backup?"

"No, Drake. No, 'e did not. If 'e 'ad, I'd be my usual bright, cheery, Christmassy self. Instead of which, I am one angry detective."

"Make that two angry detectives." She sat on the edge of his desk. "Do we go ahead, then?"

"I do. You're off duty, so it's your call."

"I'm working at the shelter as a volunteer, off duty. If you happen along, on _or_ off duty, I'll lend a hand."

It was the answer he had been hoping for, and it warmed him to the tips of his toes. "Right. He might not 'ave authorised backup, but there'll be plod on patrol, an' I'll make it my business to find out in advance where they'll be. We'll take our guns an' radios. Won't switch the radios on unless we need 'em in case they give us away, I learned that lesson from bloody Tyler. Ray, Chris an' Shaz are all off duty, so we won't 'ave them. It'll be just you an' me, Bolly."

**TBC**

**A/N: St Mungo's, Crisis at Christmas and the Silver Lady Fund continue to do their wonderful work for London's homeless in 2013, but the Silver Lady Travelling Van, which provided sustenance to the homeless and needy, was discontinued in 2008.**


	2. Seek and ye shall find

**A/N: Unfortunately I didn't get A2A in my Christmas stocking, so Kudos and the BBC are still the overlords.**

**Many thanks to everyone who's read, faved and followed this story, and especial thanks to my three lovely reviewers, Hiddenashes83, GeneHuntress and Katie Duggan's Niece. Ladies, your comments were Christmas presents! Please keep the feedback rolling in.**

**I'll post the next chapter as soon as I can, but it's not quite finished yet, and there will be at least one more to follow.**

**If I don't post again before Wednesday, a happy, healthy, wealthy, Ashy New Year to all my readers!**

Shortly before departing for the party at Luigi's on Christmas Eve, Gene took a phone call.

"Gene? Lady Joan here. Merry Christmas."

"An' the same to you, m'lady. 'Ow's business?"

"Doing nicely, thank you. The shelter's packed and more may be coming tomorrow. No sign of any of the gentlemen in your photos yet, but it doesn't mean that they mightn't arrive for Christmas Day."

From the obliqueness of her reference to the police mugshots, Gene guessed that she might be overheard. " 'Ere's 'oping. See you tomorrow."

"I look forward to it, dear boy. Please wish a merry Christmas from me to your lovely lady friend."

Gene went as scarlet as Santa's robe with embarrassment. "I'll, er, I'll do that. 'Night, m'lady."

-oO0Oo-

Given that they would be working undercover, Alex decided against wearing her usual work clothes to the shelter. The jeans were discarded in favour of a below-the-knee skirt, full enough to allow easy movement. She added the tie-neck "librarian" blouse she had worn when Lord Scarman visited the station and the new long cardigan to which she had just treated herself, which was loose enough to conceal her gun and had a deep pocket for her radio. She finished the outfit with strappy, low-heeled shoes. The loss of height made her feel less in control and she disliked the fact that Gene would be able to look down on her, but they would give her extra speed if she had to run after villains.

At 9.00 precisely, she heard a knock on the door. She answered it to find Gene, in a blue and white check shirt, black leather jacket and jeans, with his crocodile boots. Apart from the fancy dress party, it was the first time she had seen him wearing anything other than a suit. She was conscious that she could not stop staring.

"Morning, Bols. What's the matter? Got a pimple on my nose?"

"No, it's - " _My God, I'd never dreamt he'd look so good in casuals._ "Er - that leather jacket, I thought I recognised it. Is it Sam Tyler's?"

Gene's face hardened. "No. That's in the evidence room at GMP. Found in the back seat of 'is car when it was winched out of the river."

She could have bitten her tongue off. "Oh, I'm sorry. I should never have mentioned it."

"No. You shouldn't." There was a short, difficult silence. "Well. Are you ready to go?"

"Just about. I have a few donations for the shelter, food, a blanket and so on. I thought we might look more authentic if we turned up with some contributions."

"Hm." Plainly Gene had not thought of anything so generous. "Where are they?"

"In a box on the coffee table."

He swept past her, barely giving her a chance to step aside, strode into the living room and picked up the box, and marched out. He said nothing, but she thought that she had caught him looking around the room, taking in the glittering tree, crib set, swags of tinsel and vases of holly, and that he might even have been slightly impressed. _Not that he'd ever want to appear to be a Jessie by saying so._

With the streets virtually empty, the Quattro made good time on the route to the shelter. Alex, who had expected a run-down church hall or derelict factory, was impressed to see that their destination was a well set-up university building, which she guessed had been offered to the charity to use while it was empty for the holidays.

"Hope they locked up the chemistry lab before they let the tramps an' crooks in", Gene grunted, taking Alex's box from the boot. "God knows 'ow many small-time crooks we've got 'ere with form for explosives."

"Yes." Alex shuddered, remembering Layton.

As soon as they walked through the door Lady Joan bore down on them, without her placidity.

"Thank God the two of you are here!"

"Why?" Gene demanded. "Someone we know?"

"Half a dozen people who had promised me _faithfully_ that they'd be here today, have sent their apologies. I've nobody to serve breakfast. The kitchen staff have their hands full cooking it, and they'll have to start on dinner directly afterwards. I'd hoped to keep you two on backroom duties, but the situation's _desperate_!"

"That's no problem," Alex said cheerfully. "Just tell us what we can do."

"I can't," Gene muttered. "Judders knows my face."

Lady Joan smiled like a searchlight. Alex did not need her degree in psychology to recognise the depth of guile and manipulativeness behind that smile.

"In that case I have just the job for you. You can move around the shelter all day and nobody will spot you. One of the fellows who's let me down was going to be Father Christmas."

"Wha - ?" Gene was for once bereft of speech. Alex had never seen him look so straightforwardly horrified. She had to control the urge to giggle.

"She's right. It'll be the perfect disguise." Gene gave her his best _I'll-have-your-badge_ look.

"Go on, old boy, be a sport. We can't possibly let those poor children be disappointed."

"_No, no, no..._" Both women recognised that his protest was at best a rearguard action.

"Come on. Christmas spirit and all that," Lady Joan said breezily.

"I'm a police officer," Gene muttered desperately. "Not a fat ponce in a red suit!"

"Come on, I know all about undercover work." For the first time Lady Joan let an edge of _she-who-must-be-obeyed_ creep into her voice. "Can't get any more undercover than this. Alex can, er, man the breakfast servery. Changing room's over there, Room 20. Here's the key." She thrust it into Gene's numb hand. "I'll give you half an hour to make yourself decent while I show Alex what to do, then I'll drop in on you and we can run through the schedule for the day."

She swept Alex away, leaving Gene to slink off to Room 20. Alex quite distinctly heard him mumble "Bloody women" as they passed. Lady Joan deliberately heard nothing.

"So glad you could come to join us today, my dear," she boomed. "Dining hall's this way." They strode along a corridor with closed doors on either side, each labelled with their temporary function. Alex noted with approval the wide range of services available.

"We don't just take people in and chuck 'em out on New Year's Day," Lady Joan observed. "We do all we can to make them feel human again. A warm, dry bed and food's just the start. Baths, shaves, haircuts, dentistry, podiatry, physiotherapy, massage, optometry, we wash their clothes and other stuff and give them new where they need or want it, we run classes and give advice to help get them into accommodation and a job. Some of them don't want that," she added sadly. "The streets are a way of life to them and they don't want to change, especially if they've lived rough for too long. Some have become so scared of being inside four walls that I have a job of it persuading them in here, even for Christmas. Some are too proud to accept charity, even when they've sunk so low. But most of our guests are desperate to get off the streets. We don't always succeed in getting them back to normal life, but I'm proud to say that one young man who was here as a guest last year has returned as a helper. Says he wants to give something back."

"You do wonderful work here," Alex said warmly. "And I know it will continue for many years to come." She knew that Crisis at Christmas would still be at work in 2007 and would have expanded its operations by then.

"Well, I certainly hope so." Lady Joan opened a door. "This is the refectory." She closed it. "Let me take you backstage to your theatre of war." She opened a side door which gave onto an industrial sized kitchen where the staff were already toiling over piles of sprouts, potatoes and parsnips and a pungent vat of cranberry sauce.

"Morning, boys and girls." The kitchen staff looked up. "This is Alex. She's come to serve breakfast. Can you tool her up and show her what to do?"

"Sure thing, my lady." A bright-looking young man, who appeared to be in charge, stepped forward.

"I'll leave you, m'dear. You're in capable hands." Lady Joan patted Alex on the shoulder and left.

"Hello, Alex. I'm Michael Moore. Hope you don't mind if I don't shake hands, I'm preparing food."

Alex smiled. "Of course not. Just show me what to do, and I'll get to work."

"Locker's over here. You'll need to put on an overall and cap before you serve anyone, and make sure you wash your hands _thoroughly_. You can keep your own things on underneath. Thank God you're here. Lady Joan had said we'd have four servers for breakfast, but you're the first to show, and it's almost feeding time."

"Lady Joan said that six people had let her down. It looks as though I'm all you'll get."

"In that case, do you mind starting alone? We simply have to give priority to getting dinner underway. One or two of us should be able to join you in about ten minutes. We've already cooked breakfast and left it in the heated trays. The fried eggs will be a bit leathery, but everything else should be all right."

"Fine." Alex buttoned up her overall and added an apron. "What are the portion sizes?"

"One egg, two rashers of bacon, one each of everything else - sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, hash browns, potato pancakes. But if someone only wants two or three elements, you can be a bit generous with them. I'll leave it to your judgement."

"Right. I'm off."

There was already something of a hubbub in the dining room, which grew to a cheer as she emerged behind the servery and removed the covers. Through it, she heard Lady Joan bellowing "Take your trays from there and FORM AN ORDERLY QUEUE! Tell the lady what you want and you'll be served quicker!"

"Move right down the bus there!" a mocking voice shouted in retort.

Accustomed as she was to organisation, Alex found herself able to process the queue quite quickly. She was struck by the variety in the people she was serving. A few were obviously hardened old gentlemen and women of the road, and she guessed that they were the ones whom Lady Joan had difficulty in persuading to come indoors for Christmas. A couple looked slightly claustrophobic. Far more of them were young, some cocky and pugnacious, others plainly afraid of their surroundings, as though they feared at any moment to be mugged for their few belongings. Perhaps some had run away from home or had been thrown out by their partners. One started violently when she asked him if he wanted one rasher of bacon or two. He didn't look as though he was on drugs, which Gene had told her were banned from the shelter, but she guessed that he was suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Life on the streets was taking its psychological toll. A few others were in their middle years, well spoken and beautifully mannered, possibly businessmen and women who had fallen on hard times. Alex was painfully aware that the boom years of the early 80s had their unseen victims. Then there were the harassed mothers with children clustered about them, whom she guessed might have been evicted for non-payment of rent, or maybe were trying to escape from abusive husbands and boyfriends. She hoped that the Crisis advisors would be able to help some of these people escape from the vicious circle of living rough.

She made a point of giving each and every one of them her individual attention while she served them. These were people who had been brought very low. It was important that they should see someone prepared to make them feel that they mattered. She knew from her work as a negotiator that a reassuring smile could work wonders. Not only that, but if she had to go among them to seek information about Judd later in the day, it would help enormously if she had already gained their trust.

"Thank you, my darlin'," one sharp-faced Irishman thanked her when she had heaped his plate. "And what might your beautiful name be?"

"I'm Alex. A merry Christmas to you."

"I'm thinking Santa's brought me my present already with your lovely smile," he said gallantly and bore his plate away.

With two of the girls joining her about a quarter of an hour later, they were able to serve everyone within half an hour. When the last person to join the queue had made his way to the table, they looked at each other and simultaneously said "Phew!"

"Thanks so much," one of the girls said. "I don't know how we'd have managed if it hadn't been for you."

"That's what I'm here for. Do you want to get back behind the scenes, and I'll deal with any latecomers?"

"No, that's fine. You've done more than enough. You'd better hand in your overall and get away to find out what Lady Joan wants you to do next, before Mike finds something else for you to do."

"You're sure I can't help?"

"Not unless you're a cookery student, which most of us are. Our whole class offered their services. The way we see it, if we can feed this lot and live, cooking in a restaurant should be a doddle."

Alex laughed and left them to it. She had been keeping a sharp lookout for Judd, but greatly to her disappointment nobody in the queue resembled the mugshots which were their only photos of him. Perhaps Mac was right and they were wasting their time. But she had not discounted the possibility that he might be skulking somewhere with another guest bringing him food. She presumed that Gene had not found him yet, as if he had, the commotion would surely have been heard in Fenchurch. Despite all Sam's efforts, Gene would never be a softly-softly operator.

-oO0Oo-

Gene located Room 20 and found the full Father Christmas kit awaiting its wearer. He noticed with approval that it was a traditional hooded full length robe rather than a short belted coat and breeches, which meant that he should be able to keep at least some of his own clothes on underneath and could wear his holster. It also saved him the indignity of wearing a poncey bobble hat. He donned the white curly wig and beard, which he had the sense to anchor in place with a little spirit gum, added the robe, pulled the hood up, looked at himself in the mirror, and had to admit that it was a most effective disguise. Just so long as he could make this convincing. He looked in the mirror again.

"Ho, ho, bloody _ho._"

Under the dressing table was a massive sack full of presents. Looking inside, he saw that they were all wrapped in blue or pink. Colour coded.

This should be simple. He could hand out the pressies on autopilot while looking for a naughty little boy called Judders.

He heard a tap at the door and Lady Joan came in.

"Ah, Gene. Good job you're decent. That outfit's a splendid disguise, I must say."

"Just don't tell me I'll be stuck in a bloody grotto all day," Gene growled.

"Well, you'll be handing out presents to the children at noon. Best way to keep them happy until dinner's ready. I'll get them all gathered together in the play area so that you can do your stuff. After that, the day's yours. Just remember, no smoking, no bad language and no violence in front of the kiddies, and _don't_ let them see you without your beard. God knows we all lose our illusions soon enough, don't want them to lose theirs before they have to."

Gene glanced at the clock. 10.30. He chafed at the thought of being marooned out of sight for the next ninety minutes, but at least after that he would have the run of the place. And in the meantime, Alex would be out there searching for Judd.

"Very good, m'lady," he mumbled. He wasn't going to tell her that he had his gun.

-oO0Oo-

Leaving the kitchen, Alex encountered Lady Joan in the corridor.

"Ah, Alex. Thanks so much for your help with feeding the five thousand. I've another job for you."

"What's that?"

"A spot of assistance in the childrens' play area. Got to keep as many as possible of the little tinkers in one place and fairly quiet until Santa arrives at twelve. Some of the mothers are helping out, but they _will_ favour their own, of course, and we really need someone to act as storyteller."

"Certainly. What stories do you want me to tell?"

"There's a big armchair with a selection of books underneath. Take your pick, but try to include the Christmas story if you can. It's a good thing to remind us all what today's for."

"Of course."

"Thanks, dear. I can send someone to relieve you in about half an hour, and at noon I'll be acting as whipper-in to get all the stray youngsters in there to meet Santa."

Not all the children in the play area were interested in sitting down and being read to, but Alex managed to gather together a decently sized group who were prepared to listen to her as she read them the stories of Babar and Father Christmas, followed by Spot the Dog, before launching into the Christmas story.

Shortly after she began, a tired-looking woman and a little girl with blonde, curly hair sat down at the edge of the group. The little girl was wild with excitement and fidgeted constantly, looking about her and ignoring her mother's weary attempts to make her concentrate on Alex's storytelling.

"Will Daddy be here soon, mummy?" she demanded constantly.

"Yes, darling. Not much longer. Now listen to the nice lady, and soon he'll be here."

An excited child was not unusual on Christmas morning, but there was something about this one that didn't quite fit with her surroundings.

_Most children on Christmas morning are excited about presents and seeing Santa. She's only interested in seeing her father. So she can't have seen him for some time. And she's too well dressed to be in a shelter._

_Judd's wife and daughter have been in hiding since he went on the run._

Suspicion grew to something like a certainty. The last picture they had of the mother was at her wedding, and at this distance it was hard to connect this careworn woman with the radiant bride in the photograph, but it was a possibility. Their only photo of the daughter showed her at twelve months old, and she was now nearly four. About the age of the bubbly, pink-clad charmer clamouring for her daddy.

It was only with great difficulty that Alex was able to concentrate enough to finish her story, but she knew that it was vital to keep up a pretence of normality. If she closed in on them now, it would frighten Judd away. She finished the Christmas story with the visit of the three Kings, closed the book, and reached automatically for the next volume on the pile. As she bent down to retrieve the book, she caught a glimpse of a child sitting among her audience.

_"Molly..."_

She lurched to her feet and slumped forward, dimly hearing the children crying out in alarm. Someone caught her arm. She looked up and recognised one of the mothers who had been keeping order when she arrived.

"Are you all right, miss?"

"I... I saw..." Her eyes scanned the crowd, but Molly was no longer there.

"Want me to get a doctor? Place is crawling with 'em."

"No, no, thank you. I'll be all right."

"You look all in. White as a sheet. Go and sit down an' 'ave a cuppa," the woman said firmly. "I'll take over 'ere."

"Thank you. I will."

The woman sat down and took the next book to read, and Alex moved away, shaking her head to clear it.

_Damn._

The little girl in pink and her mother had vanished. Alex cursed herself, knowing that they must have used the diversion created by her near-collapse to make their getaway.

_So, where might they have gone where they won't be found?_

The play area was a curtained off enclave in one corner of a large assembly hall. Other parts of the hall were curtained off for other users, including a barber and a chiropodist. Alex was aware that some of them might be empty at the moment. Finding the mother and daughter in this lot would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

She peered cautiously around the curtains of several cubicles. All were either empty or in legitimate use, apart from one occupied by the sharp-faced Irishman, who was having a quiet smoke. He looked up quickly as she entered.

"Top of the mornin' to you, Alex me darlin'. Is this a personal visit?"

It only took a split second for her to recover her equilibrium. "You aren't meant to be doing that here, and you know it. Everyone's told the rules when they arrive."

"Ah, but ye wouldn't deny me a little smoke at Christmas, would ye? Santa's gift?"

"Put that out before this place goes up like King's Cross Underground." Too late, she remembered that the King's Cross fire had been in 1987. The man looked quizzical but then tossed his fag to the floor and ground it beneath his heel, never taking his eyes from her face.

"There. All done. Looking for someone?"

_Is this man able to read my mind?_ "Have you seen a woman with a little girl in pink?"

"Saw them passing this way a couple of minutes ago. Went thataway." He jerked his thumb to the left.

"Thank you." Alex darted away, leaving Martin Summers to ponder. How could this woman know about an event which would not happen for nearly six years? Did this mean that he was not the only person in this world who came from the future? He would have to find out more about her.

Emerging from the cubicle, Alex looked about her. Guests and helpers were moving in and out of the cubicles, and quiet groups sat at tables and on piles of spare canvas, drinking tea and talking. She picked up a bin bag and moved about, picking up debris and checking every group. Gut instinct told her that the two of them could not be far away.

As she passed by one cubicle, she spotted a bulge in the drapes, as though people were sitting in an impromptu tent amid spare folds of fabric. A change of angle confirmed for her that one of them was the woman, and that the other was a scruffy, unshaven man, his head hanging low and his cap pulled down over his face. She passed them without looking in their direction, nipped into the cubicle behind them, which by great good fortune was empty, and crouched behind the canvas to listen.

"Darling, shouldn't we go in there?" the woman was whispering urgently.

"No need," the man responded, keeping his voice low. It had the harsh tone of someone who had been sleeping in the open for a long time, in wet, cold weather. "If there's one thing I've learned these last months, it's that you're less likely to be found if you hide in plain sight. Where's Megan?"

"I sent her away. I told her you might be waiting for her in the play area. Please God one of the helpers will keep her there for a few minutes, or she'll find something to distract her."

"What the hell did you do that for?" Alex could hear the anguish in the man's voice. "Don't you realise how desperately I need to see her?"

"We need to talk." The woman sounded terrified but firm.

"What about?" The man sounded mutinous.

"We can't go on like this."

"_You_ can't? What about _me_?"

"Our money's gone. We have to keep indoors in case anyone sees us, so I can't get a job. I rely on neighbours to bring us food, but there's nothing left to pay for it, nothing for electricity, gas, rent, we're _penniless_. Megan's been wonderful through it all, but even she's starting to complain that she's always hungry."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"For God's sake, Mike, turn yourself in. Otherwise you'll die of pneumonia on the streets and we'll be left helpless."

"You know I can't do that."

"Tell the police where the money is and they'll treat you right," the woman pleaded. "All right, so you'll get a few years inside, but at least you'll have a roof over your head, food, medical care. You'd be safe from all the other gangs who are looking for you."

"And what if I'm killed or tortured in jail?" he said savagely. "Criminals hate a traitor. And you'd still both be out here, a target for anyone who wants revenge."

"Get enough money out of one of Neary's accounts for Megan and me to go abroad. South America. You know I've worked as an interpreter before. We'll make a new life for ourselves out there and you can join us when you're released."

"I can't. If I access any of his accounts, the whole underworld will get to hear about it. These people have eyes and ears everywhere. I'll be traced, and that's bound to lead back to you."

"Or is it because you're still too honour bound to that thug to rob him?" the woman snarled. "You care more about him than about your own family."

"God forbid!" the man said violently. "It's too dangerous for all of us for me to go anywhere near that money. You two could be kidnapped to make me disclose where it is. We could all be killed."

"And what sort of life do we have now?" The woman burst into tears. "It's like a living death. Oh, how I wish to God you'd never got mixed up with all this. You've ruined all our lives."

"And if I hadn't, would Megan be alive now?" he said sharply.

"What sort of life have you saved her for?" the woman wailed. "There's no way out of this, not for you, not for any of us..." She broke down into inarticulate sobs.

Before the man could reply, the air was rent with a joyous shriek of "_Daddy_!" The little girl came racing towards them and launched herself into her father's arms.

"Daddy, my Daddy!" she sobbed into his lap.

"It's all right, precious," he murmured into her hair. "I'm here. Daddy's here."

Alex had to back away, her hands pressed to her mouth and tears rolling down her cheeks. _Even this fugitive has his daughter back for Christmas, and I can't have mine. Oh, Molly..._

She pulled herself together. It would be safe to leave Judd for a few minutes. He had nowhere to run to, and he would not leave his wife and child. She should find Gene at once and tell him that she had located Judd. But how could she bear to arrest him, just as he had been reunited with his family after so long? What would become of his wife and daughter, penniless and unprotected while he was in jail?

Drying her eyes, she steeled herself to do her job. But as she emerged from her canvas cocoon, she froze at the sight in front of her.

Gene, walking into the hall. Gene, dressed as Father Christmas, all ready to bear down on the reunited family like the wolf on the fold.

Alex groaned inwardly. Someone was not going to have a merry Christmas.

**TBC**


	3. Hunt the Santa

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. Yet. My time may come…**

**Thank you to everyone who's reading and reviewing this story. It's now going to be at least four chapters long, quite possibly five, which is much longer than I originally anticipated. I keep getting new ideas for it which won't go away. That means I'll finish posting it after the Christmas season ends, but at least I've posted this third chapter before Twelfth Night.**

**If you like it, please review – and in answer to GeneHuntress's question, I want to be first in the queue to sit on Santa Gene's lap!**

Gene proceeded into the hall, a sack over his shoulder, walking like a man on his way to the gallows. Children scampered at his heels, shrieking "Santa! Santa!". Lady Joan was close behind, shepherding the strays. They passed into the play area, where a huge cheer greeted his arrival.

Alex heaved a huge sigh of relief. By some mercy, he had not seen the Judds. A plan had already formed in her mind, and she might just have time to carry it out while he was occupied holding court in the play area. He would roast her with the turkey later on for going over his head, but if this worked it would be worth a ticking-off from Gene. Goodness knew, she was used to those.

Lady Joan, who had spotted the Judds, breezed up to them.

"Excuse me for interrupting you, but Father Christmas has just arrived. Wouldn't your little girl like to see him and get a present?"

"Want to stay with Daddy," Megan declared mutinously, but all the adults could hear the longing in her voice. _She's been living in hiding for months_, Alex recalled,_ and there hasn't been any money for toys._

"Off you go, pet," Judd said reassuringly. "It won't take long. Daddy will be here when you get back."

Lady Joan's eyebrows raised as she recognised the voice of the man who had thanked her for her soup on the Silver Lady run four nights earlier, but she was careful to show no other signs of surprise.

"Come with me, dear." She took Megan's hand and led her away.

_Bingo_, Alex thought. _Judd won't move an inch until Megan comes back._ She moved away, careful not to pass the Judds, and encountered Lady Joan as she emerged from the play area in search of further stragglers.

"May I use a phone, please?" she said softly. "It's urgent."

Lady Joan did not need to be told that the phone call must not be overheard. "My office. Room 3, to the left of the entrance hall. Here's the key."

"Thank you." Alex took the key and fled.

-oO0Oo-

Like a sleepwalker, Gene mounted the dais and sat in the storyteller's chair. Utter terror consumed him as he looked out over a whole sea of ecstatic young faces. The horrendous noise level was making his head spin. What the bloody hell was he doing here? Why had he ever let a posh old bird talk him into this? He conveniently ignored the small part of his brain telling him that he had not wanted to refuse in front of Alex. More importantly, what was he doing to do now?

Lady Joan clapped her hands for silence. "Boys and girls! We all want to thank Father Christmas for coming here today, don't we?"

"YEEESSS!" they shrieked.

"Good! Now, get into a queue, just as you do when you're waiting for a bus, and you can tell him what you want for Christmas and he'll give you a present. NO, dear, I said a QUEUE! That's a line of people, isn't it, all waiting their turn. NOT all running forward at once. That's right, dear, you've got the right idea! As you're so good, you can go first."

A small, thin, terrified-looking boy climbed onto the dais and timidly approached the dazed Father Christmas.

"Er - Ho, ho, ho."

Gene focused on the newcomer. Kid couldn't be more than eight years old, but he had the look of a wary old man.

"Come 'ere, son. What's your name?"

"Stuart."

"_Stuart?_" Gene's heart swelled as memories engulfed him. "How old are you?"

"I'm eight."

_Christmas Day when Stu was eight. We'd wanted a football and roller skates. Mam said Father Christmas would try to bring them for us. She managed to get the money together for them, but on Christmas Eve Dad sold them for beer money and when Stu cried because he hadn't got a present, Dad gave him a black eye. We never believed in Father Christmas after that._

"An' what would you like for Christmas, Stuart?"

"I want us to 'ave somewhere to live," the boy confided. "We've been livin' under a railway arch since Dad left an' Mum got behind with the rent, an' it's cold an' wet there."

"Well, er, that's why your Mam's brought you 'ere. There's lots of nice people 'ere who'll 'elp 'er an' you find somewhere to stay." He made a mental note to have a word with Lady Joan about getting the Crisis staff to help Stuart's family. "An 'ere's a present from Santa." He plunged his hand into the sack and came up with a blue-wrapped present which he could feel contained a teddy bear.

"Th-thank you!" The boy clutched it like a lifeline.

" 'Ave a 'appy Christmas, Stu. NEXT!"

Next was a little girl who climbed onto his knee with all the confidence of Marlene Dietrich and snuggled affectionately against him while whispering her wish for a doll's house.

_Should be thinking of one for you and your Mam._ "Well, there's a nice one in my gnome 'ome up at the North Pole. I'll make sure you get it, soon as. An 'ere's something to be going on with." This parcel felt like a doll. With any luck, it would fit into a doll's house when her parents were flush enough to get her one.

The child left his lap with great reluctance and was replaced by a burly, stroppy boy who demanded an Action Man and tugged at Gene's beard when the proffered present turned out to be a Meccano aeroplane instead. Greatly to Gene's relief, Lady Joan had the brat removed. _Soon as you find somewhere to live, I'm coming round there to stamp on all your toys._

He wondered if his ordeal would ever end.

The brat was followed by a little girl, neatly dressed in threadbare clothes who, even in the warm room, looked half-perished with cold. Her voice was so hoarse that she could barely croak out her wish for a new dress.

_Poor little sod probably hasn't had one in years. If ever._ He knew that the shelter helped homeless people to find replacement clothing from items donations received from the public.

"In that case you've come to the right shop, love. Get your Mam to talk to Lady Joan, the lady in the tartan skirt over there - the white 'aired one, see 'er? The one who's playin' with the little girl in pink. She'll be able to find you something." To his horror, the child burst into tears. "Hey, what's up?"

"I h- I h- haven't got a Mummy any more," the girl wailed. "She l-left us six months ago. My Daddy's looking after us now. But we h-have to live in a c-caravan because he's s-scared the S-Social will c-come and take us away!"

Gene wrapped an arm around her while she sobbed into his scarlet robe. He had started by regarding this Santa lark as a hated chore to be endured and got through, but as each tragic story succeeded the last he was becoming consumed with horror and rage at the injustice of the suffering that these children had to endure. _And God knows how many more of them are out there, not even lucky enough to get into a place like this for Christmas. _

_My job is to make a difference. Always is, always has been, whatever I do. It isn't much, but maybe by playing Santa I can make a difference for some of these poor kids. Except for the little bastard with the Meccano._

"There, there, love. Sorry, I didn't know. Get your Dad to talk to the nice lady."

She nodded and was all set to flee the platform, but he gently held her back.

"Hey, hey, there. Don't you want a present from Santa?"

She nodded and he felt deep into the sack for a soft, pink-wrapped present which felt to him like a woollen scarf. _Just what she needs._

"There you go, love, an' a merry Christmas."

He did a quick count of the kids waiting patiently, or not so patiently, in the queue. About thirty to go. He mentally mopped his brow.

"NEXT!"

-oO0Oo-

Alex locked herself in Room 3 and dialled the front desk at Fenchurch East. She did not recognise the voice answering her.

"Hello, DI Drake here. I don't suppose Viv is on duty today?"

"No, Ma'am." The voice was young, well-spoken, respectful. "He's off duty today. I'm PS Michael Clarence, I'm filling in over the holiday. How can I help, Ma'am?"

"Can you please find out for me, the phone number of the Met officer in charge of the Witness Protection Programme? It's extremely urgent that I speak to him at once, today. And please don't tell anyone that I've asked you." _Because what I'm going to ask of him is going to be more unorthodox than Gene cheering for United._

"Of course I won't, Ma'am. Just hold the line, I'll get it for you."

Every second she had to wait felt like an age, filled with visions of Megan returning to her parents and the Judds vanishing. After about two minutes PS Clarence spoke again.

"I've got the name and numbers for you, Ma'am. The Metropolitan Police Head of Witness Protection is away and out of contact over the Christmas period - skiiing in Switzerland, so I understand. The City of London Police Head of Witness Protection is covering for him. She's on leave but can be contacted at home in an emergency. DCI Myra Bishop. I have both her home number and her work number, but I don't think the work number will do you much good if you need to speak to her today."

"Thank you, Sergeant. Good work. Better give me both numbers, just in case."

He recited the numbers to her, and she rang off with a word of thanks.

It was with some trepidation that Alex dialled the home number. This _was_ an emergency, but what she was asking would be in the nature of a favour. DCI Bishop might not take kindly to having her Christmas disrupted.

A man answered the phone, and Alex could hear a number of voices and Christmas music playing in the background. It sounded as though DCI Bishop was hosting a substantial Christmas party.

"Yes, she's here. I'll get her for you. Shall I say who's calling?"

"Yes, please say that it's DI Drake of the Metropolitan Police."

After a short wait she heard a woman's voice, warm, maternal, friendly and caring.

"Myra Bishop here. What can I do for you, DI Drake?"

"I'm with DCI Gene Hunt at the Crisis at Christmas shelter in Bermondsey. We've located a suspect who's in hiding here with his wife and daughter."

"Name?"

"Michael Judd. Former book-keeper - "

"To Simon Neary. Yes, my Force has been looking out for him too."

"You'll know the situation then, Ma'am." As the only DI in her Division, it felt strange to Alex to be speaking to a female superior officer in the 1980s. "We know that a number of gangs are after him. We haven't attempted to approach him or his family yet. If we simply move in to arrest him, he could try to make a break for it. That could create a disturbance, which in this crowded place we want to avoid."

"Understandably."

"We don't know whether any of the gangs looking for him have traced him here. If they have, and an attempt on our part to arrest Judd creates a scene, they'll be onto him. This shelter is full of women and children, and we daren't risk a shootout or hostage situation."

"Of course not."

"It isn't just arresting Judd that's important. We need to get him onside so that he will give us his information on Neary's financial empire. It could be crucial in demonstrating to the court that money in Neary's bank accounts came from bank raids in which we suspect Neary was involved. We know that Judd's terrified of putting his family in danger if he goes to the police or tries to access any of Neary's accounts to get money to send them abroad. His wife is desperate. She and their daughter have been in hiding since he went on the run, but they have no money left. She's urging him to hand himself in. I believe that if I can assure Judd that his wife and daughter will be protected, I could persuade him to assist us, which would in turn help to reduce the length of his sentence. Now, I know that as the wife and daughter aren't witnesses they don't actually fall within the remit of your programme, but insofar as a guarantee of their safety could induce a suspect to act as a witness - "

"Say no more. Of course we'll protect them. Can't leave a woman and a child exposed to danger. God knows what would happen to them if any of Neary's rivals got them. You do realise, though, that if Judd doesn't also get witness protection on his release, he may be separated from them for ever?"

"I had considered that," Alex said cautiously. "But he's unlikely ever to be out of danger, even after the police get hold of Neary's bank accounts. He could be a target for revenge attacks."

"More than likely," DCI Bishop agreed. "I know what happened to poor Harry Richardson."

_Who? Oh, yes, Reeks._

"I can't guarantee what would happen at the end of whatever sentence Judd receives, but if I'm still in this job then I'd certainly make a strong recommendation for him to be given witness protection so that he can join his family, wherever they are," DCI Bishop continued. "Will that be enough for you to take as an offer to him?"

"I certainly hope so. Thank you."

"Good. Off you go and get Judd. Take the whole family to your station - "

"Fenchurch East."

"Call me again when you've got them there and keep them in the station until I arrive. I'll be making some calls to organise a new location for the wife and daughter."

"Thank you so much, Ma'am. I'm so sorry to spoil your Christmas."

"Think nothing of it. It comes with the territory. Nicholas, my husband, is always very busy at Christmas. Goodbye, DI Drake. We'll talk later."

Alex left the office, too preoccupied to notice the man who had been listening behind the door and had turned away, pretending to read a paper, as she emerged. Summers's mind was reeling with the effort of trying to process all the information he had just received.

_DI Drake. DI _Alex_ Drake. The name of the woman in the room next to mine in the hospital. In 2008. The DI who's been shot in the head. Her daughter Molly is on her way to see her. _

Was it coincidence, or could the two women possibly, just possibly, be one and the same?

_This Alex Drake knows that the King's Cross fire is going to happen. _

More than ever, he felt that he could not be the only person from the real world in this Godforsaken place. He felt a surge of fellow feeling, a lessening of his terrible loneliness.

_It might be a mistake. She might be referring to another fire in the past that I don't know about._

_I know her station now. Fenchurch East. I know how to find her again. I must find out more about her. See if she knows any more about the future. About the real world._

When he'd first arrived in this place, his natural instinct had been to go undercover. Now it looked as though it was going to start paying off.

-oO0Oo-

On returning to the assembly hall, Alex was deeply relieved to find that the Judds were still in the same place and that Megan had not returned. She had to hope that Lady Joan was keeping an eye on the child while she spoke to the parents.

She approached them and they looked up, both starting like nervous horses. She gave them her most reassuring smile.

"Hello. I'm one of the helpers here." That at least was true. "We're dedicated to helping people to get off the streets and into accommodation. Can I have a word?"

"No, no, thank you," Judd muttered nervously. "We're all right."

"I hardly think so, if you need to ask a charity to shelter you at Christmas," Alex said gravely. "To be here means that you need help. Can we have a word, please?" She motioned to the empty cubicle behind her.

"Later, maybe." Mrs Judd spoke with an effort. "We're waiting here for our daughter. She's been taken to see Father Christmas."

"Now, please." Alex allowed an edge to creep into her voice. "Then we can finish before your daughter comes back."

Judd's face showed that he knew that the game was up. He nodded, muttering something, and he and his wife followed Alex into the cubicle, which was furnished with a table and three chairs.

Careful to place herself between the Judds and the entrance, Alex produced her warrant card.

"Michael Judd, you are under arrest under suspicion of money laundering, handing stolen money, concealment of evidence - "

"Oh God..." Mrs Judd sank into a chair. Judd remained standing, blazing with defiance, yet Alex thought that she could detect a sense of relief at the decision having been taken out of his hands.

"I know you," he snarled. "You're DI Drake, aren't you? The _woman _detective. You and that ape Hunt took Simon Neary down. You're the one who got Marcus Johnstone to _betray_ him. So why do you think I'd want to _talk_ to you?"

"Because I can help you," Alex said calmly.

"Hah!"

"I know that your chief concern is not for yourself, not for Simon Neary or for the money you administered for him. Your concern is for a treasure infinitely more precious and more vulnerable. Your wife and your daughter."

"Fancy words from a traitor cop," he scoffed, but she noticed that he made no move to try to leave.

"Listen to her, Mike," Mrs Judd urged.

"I know that you dread that whatever action you take might expose them to danger and that they are living in desperate poverty."

"So?"

"I have just been speaking to the acting Head of Witness Protection for the Metropolitan Police, who has guaranteed that if you co-operate with the police in our case against Simon Neary, your wife and daughter will be protected. They will be re-located and be given a new home and new identities. They will be safe from anyone seeking them to gain information from you."

"A new home... Oh, Mike..."

Judd's face was carefully expressionless. "So you'll protect them but throw me to the wolves?"

"No. You'll be kept in custody until your trial, and my DCI and I will see to it that you are not placed in any jail in which Neary or any of his associates are inmates." _And if Gene doesn't make good on that, I'll pour sugar into the Quattro's engine._ "What sentence you receive and how long it is would be a matter for the courts, but it would take into account any assistance you give to the police."

Judd was very still. "And - afterwards?"

_At least he isn't rejecting the offer out of hand. But here's the difficult bit._ "I'm afraid I can't guarantee that. All I can say is that if, as seems likely, you are still considered to be in danger following your release, then there would be a very strong possibility that you would be recommended for witness protection, so that you could join your wife and daughter."

Her words hung in the air. Mrs Judd had gone very white and reached out to grip her husband's hand. Judd stood still, his head bowed. Alex waited.

**TBC**


	4. Just Deserts

**A/N: I still don't own Ashes to Ashes… you know how it goes.**

**Many thanks to my faithful readers and reviewers, and (once again) many apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. I have encountered a variety of distractions, including work (yes, that old thing), music reviews, and a trip to Manchester to visit LOM locations and see the lovely Dean Andrews in "That Day We Sang". **

**One more chapter to go after this one (I think – I hope it isn't more), but I haven't written much of it yet. This story is turning out a lot longer than I expected. At this rate I might post the final chapter in time for NEXT Christmas!**

**If you like it, you know where the review button is… **

With a half dozen kids still to go, and having endured heartbreaking stories from nearly all of them, Gene felt as wrung out as a City shirt in the wash after a match day. The next child was a little boy who hesitated on the edge of the dais as though poised for flight and shrank back when Gene held out his hand.

"Hey, no call to be scared, son. Come to Santa. What d'you want for Christmas, eh?"

The boy looked all about him with hunted eyes as though dreading that the very walls would guess his secret. "Can I whisper?" he whispered.

"Come again?"

"C-can I whisper?"

"Sure you can." He hauled the child onto his lap and the kid whispered into his ear, "Please, Santa, can you stop people throwing stones at our house?"

Gene settled the kid onto his lap and looked at him very seriously. _I can smell a case here._ "Now what the 'ell - what would they do that for?"

"I don't know." The kid was crying. "They came every night. They shouted that my Dad was a tray - tray - "

"Traitor?" Gene suggested.

"Y-yes," the boy hiccupped. "What is that?"

"It's a naughty word an' they shouldn't 'ave used it," he said reassuringly.

"We've had to run away from home," the boy whispered.

"What's your name, son?"

"Adam O'Neill. I'm seven."

Gene's gut instinct was standing up and screaming. _Patrick O'Neill. He was hitman of choice for Dermot Leary's gang until he turned snout to inform on Leary's brother for raping his sister-in-law. We'd heard that Leary had made London too hot for him and he'd gone back to Belfast, but has he simply gone underground and waited for a chance to get back into Leary's good books? _

_If Leary hasn't sent him here to look for Judders, I'll have my reindeer for dinner._

For a moment he had forgotten the boy on his lap, who was looking up at him, puzzled. He quickly resumed his Santa persona.

"So, your Mam an' Dad, they're 'ere, are they?"

"Mummy's there." The boy pointed out a woman in the crowd, and Gene waved cheerily to her. "Daddy was here, but he's gone away."

_That's hardly surprising. The bastard brings his wife and son in as cover and then leaves them in a place of safety while he carries out his dirty work. _Gene was desperate to get out and look for him, but he knew that if Santa bolted before seeing all the children, it would blow his cover. Nothing for it. He would have to process the rest in double quick time.

"Look, I'll 'ave a word about the nasty people for you, an 'ere's a present from Santa." He pressed a blue-wrapped parcel, which felt like a colouring book and pencils, into the boy's hand. "Nice meeting you, Adam. NEXT!"

-oO0Oo-

Judd looked straight at Alex. "Why are you offering to do this for me? For us?"

"Because contrary to popular belief, we _care_. I care. This isn't just about arresting you and obtaining information. I know how dangerous the situation is for you and your family, and I can't just arrest you and abandon them to their fate. Believe me. I have a daughter myself, and I haven't been able to see her for so long that it breaks my heart. But I have to hope that she is safer where she is, than she would be here with me. That is why I want to do this to protect your daughter and your wife."

"That isn't Hunt's style," Judd said suspiciously.

The corner of Alex's mouth crooked. "He doesn't know yet that I'm doing this."

"I thought so. Making promises you can't deliver."

"By the time he does, the decision will be out of his hands. I've involved the Head of Witness Protection and she has agreed my proposals. She is currently interrupting her Christmas celebrations to arrange safe accommodation for your wife and daughter in the event that you accept my offer."

"Please, Mike," his wife pleaded. "Do as she says. Don't get us all into any further trouble. At least this way, you'd know that Megan and I are safe. You'd be looked after in jail. And when you're released, I know that you'll find us again. I'll find a way."

Alex very much doubted that last. If Mrs Judd were ever to breach the strict conditions of her witness protection, the consequences could be terrible. Judd almost certainly realised that. He looked Alex straight in the eye.

"I still don't know whether I can trust you."

-oO0Oo-

Dealing with the remaining children quickly was more difficult than Gene had anticipated. With four kids left to go, he was saddled with an inquisitive little tyke who received a present and demanded, "Where are your reindeer?"

"Eh?"

"Where are your reindeer? Are they on the roof?"

"No, no, wouldn't leave 'em up there where anyone could see 'em."

"Where _are_ they, then?"

Gene had to improvise. "Well, er, you know that patch of grass behind this building?"

"No."

"Well, they're there."

"Don't know it."

"Well, that's where they are." Gene was sweating so much that he thought his beard might slide off.

"Can I see them?"

"No, we'll be off soon as I've finished 'ere. Lots more calls today. Merry Christmas, David. NEXT!"

The next two kids were meek enough and gave him little trouble, but as soon as the last danced towards him he knew that she would be a handful. A little fair-haired charmer all in pink who launched herself into his lap, flung her arms around his neck, and cried, "Hello, Santa!"

Gene managed to absorb the onslaught. "Hello to you too, love. Merry Christmas. What'd you like from Santa, than?"

She snuggled into his arms. "I want Daddy to stay for ever an' ever and never, never go away again."

His spine prickled. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Megan Judd."

His suspicion was confirmed. _Judders is in the building. His wife must be here too. They won't move anywhere until their daughter comes back. Must be why Lady Joan's been holding onto her, I saw them playing together earlier. Drake's looking for the Judds, maybe she's found them. But what if O'Neill finds them first?_

"Right, Megan. Let's see what we can do. Is your Dad 'ere?"

"He's with Mummy. A nice lady came and took me to see you."

"Right, love. 'Ere's a present from Santa, and off you go back to the nice lady. In a few minutes a very 'andsome bloke's goin' to come to talk to you an' 'er, an' 'e'll 'ave a word with your Dad. That OK?"

"Oh, thank you, Santa!" She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. He lifted her down carefully and she toddled back to Lady Joan. His conscience gnawed at him, knowing that, far from keeping her father with her forever, he would be separating them for a long, long time. He comforted himself with the knowledge that Judd would be a bloody sight safer in the Scrubs or Pentonville than at the mercy of Leary and his merry men.

"Now, boys and girls, let's all wave Father Christmas goodbye and sing _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_!" Lady Joan boomed. The play area erupted with cheering, and Gene gratefully picked up his much-depleted sack and stumped towards the exit, waving as he went. He spotted Lady Joan signalling to a side exit, which he presumed would allow him a more private getaway, and headed for it. On the way, he saw her handing Megan to one of her helpers, obviously with orders to take charge, and slipping out ahead of him.

Their exit took them out of a door in one corner of the assembly hall and into a corridor beyond. The noise that the children were making would cover anything they said.

"The girl in pink - " Lady Joan began.

"I know. Megan Judd." Gene dumped his sack on the ground and reached under his robe for his gun.

"It's all right," she said soothingly. "Alex has spotted her parents and she's gone to make a phone call."

"Backup. She's bein' sensible for once." Gene at last extracted his gun and broke it open to check for ammunition.

"Oh, no, you don't wave that thing in here. The Judds won't move without Megan. I've told Veronica, one of my helpers, to keep hold of her and to keep the children busy with a singsong until dinner's ready. Alex and I have everything under control."

Gene closed the gun with a snap. "No, you 'aven't. The kid sixth from last is the son of Dermot Leary's 'itman. An' 'is dad's 'ere, lookin' for Judders."

Lady Joan paled. "Oh, _shit._"

"How do I get back to the assembly 'all without goin' past the kids?"

"Round here." She pointed, and he set off at a run with her in hot pursuit. They had just reached the doorway of the hall when a child's cry rooted them to the spot.

"MUMMY!"

Megan was in the centre of the hall, in the grip of a wolf-faced, black-haired man who held a gun to her head and was trying to drag her away. Alex and the Judds had emerged from the cubicle, and she was desperately trying to hold Judd back. She was white-faced and looked as though her worst nightmare had returned to haunt her, but was controlling herself with a visible effort.

"Keep still, you little bitch!" the gunman snarled to Megan. He had a broad Irish accent.

"Let me get to her!" Judd bellowed at the same time.

"Let 'er go!" Gene roared. Unnoticed in the hubbub, Lady Joan edged away from him. Fortunately the children were making too much noise in the play area for anyone there to hear what was happening, but people emerged from several other cubicles, saw the gun, and retreated in terror.

"Please, everyone, keep calm," Alex begged. The gunman pressed the muzzle of his pistol into Megan's temple, and she whimpered.

Alex stepped forward, careful to shield the Judds. "I'm a police officer. I'm trained in negotiation. Give me the gun, please. Gently does it - "

"The only negotiating I want to do is with Mikey there," the gunman snapped. "Keep back or I'll blow the little bitch's head off."

All the fight went out of Judd. "I'll do anything you want," he muttered brokenly. "Only don't hurt her, please don't hurt her..."

"That depends on what you do," the gunman retorted. "She comes with me now, and we'll be in touch. We'll want information from you, Mikey-boy. Lots of it. _If_ you tell us everything we want to know, then you _might_ see her again, but only when every account's been emptied. And if you lie to us, or the money's not there, we'll send 'er back in pieces!"

Mrs Judd made a terrible wailing sound. Megan was crying, loudly and hopelessly.

"Bastard!" Gene raced into the fray, gun in hand, robes swirling. "You 'arm a single 'air on 'er 'ead an' I'll kill you!"

Megan looked up. "Santa..." she whispered faintly, her eyes fixed on her hero. Judd registered his presence and his lips shaped the word "Hunt?"

"Holy Mary, it's a pistol-packing Santa now!" the gunman snorted. "Bugger off, you fraud. I know you won't fire while I've got a gun to her head - "

While he was in full flow, a well-manicured finger reached out and pressed a sensitive place on the back of his neck. He buckled, and a hand grabbed his gun arm, forcing the weapon up. Gene dived forward beneath the wavering muzzle to pull Megan clear and she subsided, sobbing, into his arms.

Lady Joan gave the villain a sharp blow to the neck, let him fall to the ground, out cold, and picked up his gun with her handkerchief.

"Good job I attended those self-defence classes we held at St Mungo's in October," she remarked conversationally as she held out the gun to a stunned Alex. "The instructor taught me how to go for the vagus nerve."

Megan wept out her terror in Gene's arms. "Santa, you saved me..."

"There, there, sweetheart," he murmured comfortingly, "the nasty man's gone. Just a nasty bastard who doesn't like Christmas. You won't see 'im ever again."

Judd turned to Alex. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll accept your offer. Yes, we'll come with you. I know I can trust you now. You and your, er, Santa have just risked your lives for Megan. It's the only way my family can be safe."

Gene looked up. "What offer?"

"We'll explain later, _Santa_," Alex said hurriedly. "I've read Mr Judd his rights and he, ah, knows the situation. Lady Joan, can they wait in your office while we organise a squad car?"

"I thought you'd already phoned for backup?" Gene grumbled.

"_I'm_ backup," Lady Joan said severely. "Or didn't you realise? Of course they can, Alex. We're just about to ring the bell for dinner, I'll have some sent in for them."

"Right. Yours, I think." Gene rose, still holding his gun and with Megan in his arms, and was about to hand her to Judd when another gunman burst in. This one was Chinese, and he made no move towards the group but braced his feet apart and aimed his gun at Judd.

"Mister Judd, you come with me!" he intoned.

"Bloody 'ell, now it's the Tong! E's not goin' anywhere, Chinky, except with us."

"Mister Judd, you come with me," the gunman repeated, the faintest trace of uncertainty beginning to show behind his inscrutability. Clearly he had not expected to have to deal with any resistance.

"Which gang are_ you_ from, then?" Gene demanded. "Sammo Fong's in Rupert Court?"

Alex stepped forward. "We're police officers. Give me the gun, please."

"Mister Judd, you come with me," the gunman repeated again.

Gene regarded him thoughtfully. "Bols, d'you get the impression that's the only English 'e knows?"

"Mister Judd, you come with me!"

"Stuck record time, innit? Hold 'er for me, love." Gene handed Megan to the trembling Mrs Judd and, in the same movement, flourished his gun and shot the pistol from the Chinaman's hand. He stood, shocked, while Megan howled in renewed terror, and Alex took advantage of his hesitation to jump forward and give him the full power of her left hook. He dropped like a stone.

The air was filled with the sound of children screaming. Lady Joan hissed to Gene "Put that gun _away_!" and rushed over to the entrance to the play area, placing herself so that nobody could see Santa with a smoking pistol. Megan, her face hidden in her mother's shoulder, was fortunately beyond noticing.

"It's all right, dears!" She clapped her hands for silence. "A nice person gave your mummies and daddies a lovely bottle of champagne for their Christmas dinner. Only I opened it too early and it went off BANG!" She clapped her hands to illustrate. "BANG! Now, what does champagne do?"

"BANG!" the children chorussed.

"That's RIGHT! Now, who knows _Merry Christmas, Everybody_?"

The children started on another song and a helper came out to speak to her.

"Thank God you're here, my Lady. That little girl you told me to mind has vanished. I turned away for a moment to break up a fight between two boys and she ran off. I don't know where to look and I didn't know where you'd gone, to tell you."

"It's all right, Veronica, though it might not have been," Lady Joan said quietly. "All's well that ends well. Keep the children occupied in there until I give the all clear."

"Yes, my lady." Veronica returned to the play area.

People were cautiously emerging from the cubicles to see the two unconscious villains, with Father Christmas fishing two pairs of handcuffs from the depths of his robe, tossing one to Alex, and kneeling on O'Neill to cuff him.

"It's all right, ladies and gentlemen," Alex said reassuringly. "I'm a police officer. These two men appeared to be involved in some sort of gangland quarrel and a little girl was taken hostage, but we've arrested them and will take them to our station to charge them. Move away, there's nothing to see."

"You can be taking your places in the refectory," Lady Joan added, bustling up. "We'll be ringing the bell for dinner any minute."

Exchanging surprised glances, the occupants of the cubicles moved to the exit. Gene rose to his feet and dusted his hands.

"Right. Two little pressies for Santa. Sod keeping the Judds 'ere while we wait for a squad car, we're taking 'em in the Quattro. Don't know 'ow many more bastards might come creepin' out of the woodwork. Bols, radio for a squad car to take these two back to the station." Alex nodded, reached for her radio, switched it on, and turned away to talk as the signal came through. "Sorry, m'lady, we'll 'ave to go."

"Understood," Lady Joan said gravely. "Thank you for all your help today, _Father Christmas_. Won't you need to get your _friend_ Mr Hunt?"

Gene had all but forgotten his cunning disguise. "Er, sure thing, m'lady. Back soon. Er, ho-ho-ho."

He raced out through the passageway, robes swirling. Alex checked that the two gunmen were still out cold and shackled their ankles with her own handcuffs, thanking Heaven that she and Gene had had the foresight to bring two pairs each.

"You can leave these two with me, dear," Lady Joan said briskly. "I know you have to give priority to getting the family away. I'll stand guard until the police car arrives, it shouldn't be long."

"Thank you, my Lady." Alex rose to her feet. "I'm sorry that we have to leave you in the lurch like this."

"Not at all. You've found what you came for. Maybe you can come back another day to make up," Lady Joan added meaningfully.

"Well, I did say I'd come tomorrow," Alex admitted, "but - "

"I know. You'll both have a lot to do, now."

In the meantime the Judds had been soothing the distraught Megan. She looked up, hiccupping.

"Where's Santa?"

"He's had to go, darling," Judd said gently. "He's got to see lots of other children today."

"H-he gave me this dolly." Megan held out a dark-haired doll, dressed in a white jacket and jeans. "I was c-coming to show you when that m-man - "

"I know, dear. It's all right. You'll never see him again."

"Now we've got a big treat for you for Christmas!" Mrs Judd forced a bright smile onto her sad face. "You're going to see a real police station!"

"Yes." Alex joined them, smiling encouragingly. "I'm a policewoman. My name's Alex Drake. We're going to show you where we work and what we do. People don't usually see that. It's very special. And you're going to have a ride in the most splendid red car in the world! Come with me, and I'll show you." She was desperate to get the family to a place of safety before any more gang members came across them, but was deeply conscious that she had to speak to Gene as soon as possible, out of their earshot. At the same time she could not risk leaving them alone. Her dilemma was solved as four plods walked in.

"Ma'am," their leader said respectfully.

"Two gunmen here. Both attempted kidnappings. Take them back to Fenchurch East and get Skip to put them in the cells. Get the medics to check them over. My Guv and I will be along to interview them later. Skip's to get lawyers if they ask for them. That one's Chinese and doesn't appear to know much English. We'll need an interpreter. Tell whoever's on duty to get one. Probably for tomorrow now."

"Roger that, Ma'am."

While the plod busied themselves with hauling the inert felons out, Alex turned to Lady Joan. "My Lady, I'm sorry to ask one more favour of you, but if I take the family to your office, can you please keep an eye on them while I have a word with the Guv?"

"Of course I will, my dear. Take your time."

Alex approached the Judds. "Come with us, please. You can wait in Lady Joan's office."

She led them out, with the Judds following and Mrs Judd carrying Megan in her arms. After a quick word with Veronica, Lady Joan followed, bringing up the rear. Judd came forward to be level with Alex and muttered to her, "Why aren't you arresting me?"

"You _are_ under arrest. Don't you remember?"

"Where are the cuffs then?"

"You've said that you'll co-operate with us. Your parole, if you will. I won't treat you as a prisoner while your daughter's here. Let her keep her illusions."

"Thank you," he muttered fervently, and dropped back beside his wife.

Leaving them with Lady Joan in Room 3, Alex jogged off to Room 20 and walked in without knocking. Gene stood in front of the mirror, blasphemously trying to remove his wig and beard. Seeing Alex arrive did not lengthen his temper.

"Bloody 'ell, Drake, when'll you learn to knock? Trying to get lucky an' catch me in my pink skin?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Guv," she said acidly. "Having trouble?"

"Gene Hunt never 'as trouble," he lied, giving the beard another tug and wincing with pain.

"Good Heavens, if you try to get it off like that you'll take your skin with it. Haven't you tried using spirit gum remover?"

"Eh?"

"Lady Joan must have left some here." Alex rummaged in the make-up box on the table. "Ah, this is it." She tore off a piece of cotton wool and moistened it well with the remover. "Hold still."

She gently dabbed it along his hairline and then along his jawline and upper lip. They were so close that she could feel his warm breath fanning her hand and the heat of his skin beneath her fingertips. Trying not to tremble, she saw him close his eyes as she touched him, and tried, unsuccessfully, to tell herself that he was only trying to stop her getting the remover in his eyes. She gently removed the beard, feeling the roughness of his stubble against her hands, and then lifted the wig away.

"There. All done." She sounded unnecessarily brisk as she tried to conceal how much the episode had affected her. "Better wipe your face well, that stuff has a very drying effect."

"An' 'ow do _you_ know about stickin' beards on?" he grumbled, reaching for a damp towel. She noticed that he had not thanked her.

"Not beards. Wigs. When I've been undercover."

"Oh. An' did you just come in 'ere to tamper with my crepe 'air?"

"No, Guv. I need to explain something before we take the Judds to the station."

"Is this about your _offer_?" Suspicion hung over him like a pall.

"Yes. I had to take some unilateral action while you were otherwise occupied."

"_What_?"

Alex took a deep breath. "Nicking Judd isn't going to help us half so much if he isn't prepared to talk. And what's just happened has demonstrated that if we nicked him but left his wife and daughter unprotected, they'll be an easy prey for gangs who could use them to blackmail him into keeping his mouth shut."

"So?"

"I couldn't ask your approval for this because you were in the middle of your Santa stint and if I'd approached you it would have blown your cover."

"_What. Have. You. Done_?"

"I've arranged for Mrs Judd and Megan to go into witness protection."

"_WHAT_?"

"I offered it to Judd as a package. He comes quietly and gives us all his information on Neary's accounts and financial operations, and the police will protect his wife and daughter. The wife might even _be_ a witness, if she had any idea at all what he was up to. I fixed it all up with DCI Bishop, the head of City of London Police witness protection, she's covering for the Met over the holiday period. She's arranging everything right now, and I'm to phone her once we've got the Judds to the station. I'm sorry I had to go above your head, but there just wasn't time to wait until I could talk to you."

Gene's face had gone a ripe puce which formed a lovely contrast to his golden hair. "Judd is a _criminal_! You don't go to 'im cap in 'and with _offers_! You _nick_ 'im!"

"And if I had, and abandoned his wife and child to their fate, that Irish gunman would have got them by now. What would have happened to them then?" Alex said impressively. "I was concerned that if I _nicked_ Judd, he'd have tried to bolt. That would have brought the gunmen down on our heads all the sooner, before you were ready to rush to our rescue. There could have been a shootout, with all those children nearby. It seemed the only thing to do. And it has secured us Judd's full co-operation."

Gene scowled. "Come on, then."

"To do what?"

"To get the Judds back to the station an' 'and 'is womenfolk over to DCI Bishop, you mad mare!"

Alex's heart sang. She knew that his words were the nearest he would ever get to saying that he approved what she had done.

"Thank you, Guv. So much. Can you just do one other thing for me?"

"Depends what it is."

"Megan may not see her father again for years, if ever. Please, let's make their last day together a happy one for her. We've told her that she's being taken to see the station as a special treat. Let him stay with his family and treat him like a visitor until DCI Bishop arrives to take her and her mother away. We can interview him when they're gone."

"You must think I'm going soft in the 'ead in my old age!"

"Please, Guv." She assumed her most winsome persona. "Christmas present? For being a good girl and catching a bad boy?"

"I'd much rather you were a bad girl."

"I'll be bad enough to throw a bottle of single malt and dinner at Luigi's tomorrow night into the deal."

"Oh, no, you don't buy me that way."

She looked deep into the silvery blue oceans of his eyes. "I remember how kind you were to Alex Price last month when her world was blown apart. I know you won't blow another little girl's world apart. Not on Christmas Day."

Gene blushed and looked at the ground. "Yeah, well... Come on, Drake."

He grabbed his leather jacket and swept out with Alex in hot pursuit, and blew into Room 3 like a whirlwind. Lady Joan, who had been playing with Megan, stood and stepped forward. "Ah, Mr Hunt. We've just been telling Megan how we're going to show her the police station _as a special treat._"

Gene approached. " 'Ello, little lady. What's up?"

Megan looked up at him with huge eyes. "Santa told me a handsome man would come to ask my Daddy to stay with me for ever and ever. Is that you?"

Gene crouched in front of her. "Well, am I 'andsome enough for you?"

"Oh, yes! Do you know Santa, then?"

"Yeah. Me an' 'im are like _that_." She was frowning. "Anything the matter?"

"You sound just _like _Santa."

Gene's face was impassive. "I'm good at voices."

"This is Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt," Alex said impressively. "He's a very important policeman. I work for him."

"Was it you who told the police to take the bad men away?" she said to him in a small voice.

"That's right, sweetheart, I told 'em to. Getting bad men is my job."

"And will you show me your station?" The awe in her voice made it sound like a fairytale palace.

"Yeah, sure I will. Your Mam an' Dad 'ave got to talk to this lady an' me for a bit about the bad men. Make sure we can lock 'em up so they can't 'urt you again."

"And will we have Christmas dinner there?"

"Er, well, we'll see what we can do. Come on, don't you want to see my car?"

Megan wiggled with excitement. "Yes!"

"Come on, then, it's out the front." He took her hand and led the way out, with the Judds following and Alex bringing up the rear, marvelling anew that this abrasive man could relate so well to children. There was a lump in her throat. His unexpected kindness to Megan reminded her again of how he had comforted and sustained the newly orphaned Alex Price.

The Quattro gleamed in the daylight as Gene led Megan up to it.

"So, what do you think?"

"It's beautiful!" Megan clapped her hands with delight.

"Right, you an' your Mam an' Dad get in the back, Drake's in the front, an' we'll be off."

They had loaded the car up and Gene was about to start it when Lady Joan came hurrying out with her arms full of foil containers. Alex wound her window down and Lady Joan passed her burden in.

"Thank you, my lady. What's this?"

"Five Christmas dinners. We're just starting ours, and I didn't want you to lose out. All guests and helpers are entitled to a meal. I got Michael in the kitchen to set these up for you. Heat them up when you get to the station and they should be fine."

"Oh, thank you!"

"Think nothing of it. Gene, we'll talk soon. Goodbye, all of you. A merry Christmas!"

They drove off with Lady Joan waving them goodbye. Martin Summers, who had been watching all the comings and goings from the entrance hall, pondered anew what he had learned.

_That was Patrick O'Neill the cops were hauling out. Dermot Leary's man. And I heard Alex Drake saying on the phone that she was arresting Michael Judd. Simon Neary's banker. The man I saw being taken out with his wife and child._

_Leary decided to rob the gold truck because he'd lost out on getting control of Judd. He'd have been the key to Neary's millions._

_That means Operation Rose is set to go ahead here, just as it did in the real world. Can I stop it? Or uncover that Carnegie was behind it?_

_Nobody here knows yet that I'm a copper. I'm Irish, so it'll be easy for me to infiltrate an Irish gang. Lafferty hid the guns for Leary, Rivens was the muscle. There was his sister too. Pretty girl. What was her name, Janet?_

_I'll join the Lodge and get onside with Mackintosh and Carnegie, find out how they learned in the first place that Leary was planning to rob the gold truck. But that won't be enough for me to expose them._

_I could have an ace in my sleeve. Alex Drake. If she's from the future, she'll know that the robbery happened. I want to stay here, but she must be desperate to get home. To her daughter Molly. I'll have to test her. If I find that she does come from 2008, I'll offer to send her home if she'll help me. But to do that, I know I'll have to pull her away from that DCI of hers. That'll be tricky. I can see already how closely they're tied together, tighter than either of them know. _

_I'll need an insider in their station. Someone I can corrupt. _

_Shouldn't be too hard. There's always one rotten apple in the barrel. Only this time, it won't be me._

**TBC**


End file.
